The Little Bird and the White Sword Tower
by coglione
Summary: Frightened of the threat of Joffrey, Sansa turns to one who has shown her a shred of kindness. / The same story told from two point of views.
1. Sansa

The door to the White Sword Tower opened with a small creak, as timid as the young thing standing behind it. How could she have forgotten her cloak? It was by the grace of the Gods that none had seen her. Sansa bid her head in silent prayer as she passed through the doorway.

She never noticed the White Sword Tower until she had aspied Ser Meryn Trant a fortnight ago hurrying toward a curiously slender structure built at an angle into the castle wall. She cringed as the knight had passed by her, but with no king to give an order he did not raise a hand against her. Although Sansa could not have said the same of a few days past. Her back ached slightly as she pushed the door closed. Joffrey had been especially unpleasant after learning of her brothers last victory and she had paid the price. When the gleam that so often appeared behind Joffrey's eyes did not fade after her first thrashing she knew he had not been sated. She had feared for her life that day, until Sandor Clegane had suggested the king find pleasure elsewhere. Sansa could still feel Joffrey's eyes upon her, wild and cruel, undressing her piece by piece till she was reduced to a naked shivering thing.

The door shut with a resounding clank, bringing Sansa back to her surroundings. She stood in a white, round room with walls of whitewashed stone adorned by white woolen tapestries. Her heart leapt into her throat, beating to a rhythm she could not follow. She had not seen the Hound since that day but his voice still rang in her ears.

"The girl is worth nothing, it's her brother you want."

Shock had passed his face, then boiling rage took over. She had been quick to collect herself, fleeing when the light of Joffrey's anger had shifted from her, to the Hound. The king had not forgiven Sandor Clegane for speaking against him and punished the man by leaving him naught but trivial duties away from his presence. He did not suffer the same abuse as Sansa. A man of his stature was more dangerous than the meek little thing she was.

Of the six knights of the kingsguard at King's Landing five were now with the king day in and day out: guarding his chamber door as he slept, sitting in for ser Jaime Lannister at the small council, drinking and feasting when it pleased his Grace. The Hound was never among them. Sansa could only have guessed that he were here, at the tower of the kingsguard, until king Joffrey saw fit to welcome him back to his presence.

She knew the tower must be nearly empty, save perhaps one man. But she could not say that she knew why she was here.

She was frightened - not of her surroundings but of a word Joffrey had had with her the other night.

"I don't need to marry you to put a son in your belly" he'd said, his wormy lips pulled back into a triumphant smile. Part of her worried that he meant it, that late at night she would find the young king in her bed groping at her.

She breathed in deeply. That fear still did not explain her presence here.

"Awfully quiet for ones so drunk"

Sansa turned to the voice clutching at her bodice in sudden awareness. He towered over her, his scars dancing in the light of the lonely torch bearing a flame that was sure to die. She looked toward her feet. Her heart curiously still where only moments it had been rattling the cage.

"Ser Sandor," she replied, eyes never leaving the blue-and-pearl slippers she donned.

"You are not my brothers." he said, rather stupidly.

"No, ser Sandor." Sansa replied in a murmur.

"Stop calling me that." Sandor Clegane rasped. "I am no knight, little bird."

"You are a knight of the kingsguard." her voice quailed.

"I am a man of the kingsguard." the Hound snarled.

Quiet stretched between them, its icy fingers tickling her stomach.

"What are you doing here, child."

She could not say. She did not know. "I am a woman grown."

"Bleed a little and that makes you a woman?" She was suddenly quite aware of the tightness of her bodice. She was outgrowing the dresses of her childhood, the hem inches too short and her chest spilling out the front.

Silence once more took over, and it would seem the man in front of her shared her thoughts.

"I was... frightened." Sansa offered. Why had she come? What madness had possessed her? She would find no kind words here, no solace.

"Frightened was it? So you come looking for something more terrifying is it?"

"I was frightened and you... you stopped the King."

"I misspoke." he cut across. She did not make to answer. The shift in the light told her he was moving, whereto she could not say. "What is it so interesting about your shoes you won't look up?"

Self-consciously she looked to the wall. By the small burning torch she watched light dance across the white tapestries. The white reminded her so much of the snows in the North. One day so much had fallen that Jory had to call for hands to dig out the doorways. Sansa had refused to leave the castle that day, as a lady could not walk dignified knee-high through snow. She felt stiff fingers grasp her cheeks.

"You look at me." he spoke gruffly.

And she did. Her eyes traced the ugly scars from chin to scalp, red and white and horrid. The eye there looked strained, tight and misplaced in its socket. Then she looked beyond to the scruff of his chin, to the determined brow and to the other eye, deep brown and dejected. He had the eyes of a sad old dog. His fingers left her as her eyes locked with his. Quickly he looked away and turned himself from her.

Sansa rocked in her place and without meaning to, moved forward to fill the gap.

"Anything pretty to say, Little Bird?" his back hunched, as if his strength had suddenly left him. "Any songs to sing me?"

She was quiet, her breath slow and calm. "Go, girl." he barked over his shoulder. Sansa was rigid, unable to move her planted feet.

"GO!" he turned, anger tightening the scars on his face. He looked painted in that moment, some great threat from one of Old Nan's stories. He was barely inches from her, an arm extended toward the door.

She could not say why, but a part of her felt crippled. "Why must you be so mean? I've done nothing. Please, se- Sandor."

"NOW." he grabbed her by the arm tightly and walked with her to the door. With his spare hand he opened it and sent her through. "Do not come back."

Later, as she curled in her soft silken sheets between sleep she remembered the old drunk king and her Lady.

"Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it."


	2. Sandor

The White Sword Tower was still. The wineskin was empty and the Sandor Clegane's mind was elsewhere for the moment.

Piss on Joffrey. Piss on that pompous Lannister scum. He was a broken man, and loyal because of it, but of late his allegiance had been warring with him. A slender little thing appeared in his minds eye, all auburn hair and white skin. His little bird had always been a cheerful chirper with courtesies coming out the ass but now the young thing was haunted, and her wings clipped. His hands curled into fists as the sound of her jagged breathing filled his ears. The wineskin tore.

Suddenly he heard the door open. His brothers. The punishment Joffrey had given him was meant to weaken the man, remind him of his place but Sandor Clegane did not have the same shame as other men. He knew his place. He was a loyal dog and a plaything of the lions.

He had expected a drunken ruckus and instead he heard quiet. His brothers were unusually still.

"Awfully quiet for ones so drunk" he barked, rising from the table unsteadily. The wine had gone to his head but he was a big man and could hold his liquor well enough. He approached the door, wary of the ghostly silence. Had another punishment from the king been sent his way?

The little bird stood in the doorway. She was a slip of a thing, uncloaked and shy, her arms wrapped around herself. A small burning torch showered her with dancing light and turned her auburn hair to flames.

"Ser Sandor," the girl said quietly and quickly looked to her feet.

"You are not my brothers." he breathed heavily, and his brow knitted.

Surely he was in some wretched stupor from the drink. Why else would the Stark girl come here if this were not a dream to torment his cock. She was too much to look at. He felt his dick twitch.

"No, ser Sandor." the little bird replied in a murmur. Ser, he noted. He felt the need to spit. The scarred side of his face tugged tightly. No. This was not a dream. His dreams of her were always so much more graphic.

"Stop calling me that." he rasped. A deep burning anger was rising within him. Or was it something else? He drew breath and then: "I am no knight, little bird."

"You are a knight of the kingsguard." her voice quailed.

"I am a man of the kingsguard." the Hound snarled.

Silence passed over them and then finally: "What are you doing here, child."

"I am a woman grown." she responded meekly.

"Bleed a little and that makes you a woman?" Sansa Stark had always been a pretty little thing. On the Kingsroad when she couldn't bear to look at him he'd always looked at her. Such a small little thing, innocent as a child. But he knew she was no longer a child. His eyes raked her frame. All hips and teats now. Sandor Clegane became uncomfortably aware of the tightness he felt against his breeches. It would be so easy to force himself upon her. To take what should be his. He could picture her under him, writhing and crying.

Another uncomfortable silence spread between them. Fuck. He thought. She was not looking at him. She would never look at him. It wasn't just the Kingsroad it was every waking moment.

Away with you, Dog.

"I was... frightened." the little bird cooed.

"Frightened was it? So you come looking for something more terrifying is it?"

"I was frightened and you... you stopped the King." She would never look at him.

"I misspoke." Sandor Clegane corrected. He neared her, his feet heavy with drink. The girl said nothing but kept her eyes down. Frightened, no doubt. A little bird has so much to be frightened of. So many monsters in the dark. "What is it so interesting about your shoes you won't look up?"

The girl looked to the wall. Still and quiet. The light cast shadows on her pointed face and he felt a sudden burden on his chest. The White Sword Tower was nothing but white. Pure and knightly and he did not belong. He wanted to wrench the torch from the wall and extinguish the room. He grabbed her firmly by the jaw.

"You look at me." Sandor commanded. His breathing was rapid. He could feel his anger growing and growing. Her eyes followed the scars on his face, stopping here and there to measure the grotesque thing he was. But then she looked beyond. Suddenly she met his gaze and he felt naked. He let go of her quickly and turned from her, shaking.

"Anything pretty to say, little bird?" he exhaled. She had looked. But what had she seen? "Any songs to sing me?"

Nothing. Sansa Stark said nothing. And the anger flooded back. He would never be anything to her. He would only ever be a monster "Go, girl." He was defeated.

Despite his bark he did not hear her flee from him. He had gotten what he wanted, a look from the pretty maid. Now he wanted her gone.

"GO!" he turned, and his anger released from him. He was shaking. Every part of him felt ready to tear.

"Why must you be so mean? I've done nothing." Nothing but look. "Please, se- Sandor."

"NOW." he grabbed her by the arm tightly and walked with her to the door. With his spare hand he opened it and sent her through. "Do not come back."

He stalled by the door for a moment. Her courtesy had slipped and she had called him by his name. Her pained expression. Her plea.

He felt himself grow limp as an uncomfortable feeling of guilt washed over him and he returned to the table. He lifted the wineskin only to find it torn and empty.

She had looked at him. She had called him by name.


End file.
